Chapter 3: The Weaver's Choice
Chapter 3 • 164 Words
Silas walked through the rain-slicked streets of the lower city, the velvet thread tucked into his inner pocket. He could feel it pulsing against his chest, a warm, quiet heartbeat. He was following the faint resonance of the thread, which grew stronger as he approached the harbor docks.
Near the edge of the water, sitting on a wooden crate, was a young girl wrapping a fish in newspaper. She wore a patched grey cloak, her dark hair wet from the rain. As Silas approached, she looked up. Her eyes were not black, but they had no reflections, like deep pools of ink.
She did not look afraid. She simply stared at him, then looked down at his hand. "You have my thread," she said, her voice clear and calm. Silas stopped, realizing that if he handed the thread to the Council, her life would be woven into the machine—or cut permanently. He looked at the thread, then at the girl, and made his choice.